


Fair and Square

by CamsthiSky



Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Brief Dinah cameo, Dick Grayson is Robin, Fluff, Fun, Gen, Humor, Set Early Time Skip, Sparring, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12492400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: In which Wally is bored, Artemis is savage, Clark is exasperated, and Dick just wants to kick some ass.





	Fair and Square

**Author's Note:**

> sheillagh-tries-life asked: Could you do a YJ verse (like during S1/early time skip ish) Dick being a lil ridiculous/v dramatic with Bruce in front of the team? I love ur angst and fluff so much so ether is gr8 :D

“I’m _bored,”_ Wally says to the static on the TV more than the other occupants of the room, and he exhales loudly as he flops back onto the couch so that everyone knows how completely and utterly serious he’s being.

Dick snorts and leans forward in his seat. And Wally’s says _Dick’s_ the dramatic one. Which—well. He’s not wrong. Dick grew up a performer. Drama is what he _does._ But that doesn’t mean that Wally isn’t a drama queen, either. Maybe Dick’s rubbing off on him.

“Hi bored,” Artemis says, eyes trained on the textbook in front of her. “I don’t give a shit.”

Dick chokes, and so does Wally, except Dick is managing to let out somewhat strangled laughter while Wally is just straight up spluttering, looking almost affronted by the fact that Artemis had just done _that_. Kaldur sighs exasperatedly, and Conner and M’gann both share confused looks.

“What the hell,” Wally hisses when he manages to regain some of his composure. “What the _hell._ ”

Dick’s grin is big and teasing. “You totally set yourself up for that.”

“I’m actually surprised you didn’t see it coming,” Artemis says, flipping a page of her book before scribbling something down in a notebook next to it. She doesn’t even crack a smile, and she sounds completely unbothered, so much so that it sends Wally into speechlessness again, and Dick starts cracking up all over again.

He hears M’gann whisper to Kaldur, _“I don’t think I understand,”_ and Conner say, _“I don’t think I even want to,”_ but before Dick can properly help Kaldur explain it, Wally finds his voice.

“I hate all of you,” he grumbles, sinking back into the couch. He turns his gaze to Artemis, who still isn’t even sparing him a glance. “Especially _you.”_

“Find someone who cares,” Artemis tells him.

Wally’s eyes find Dick’s, accusing, as if to say, _this is all your fault,_ and Dick snorts again. “She verbally kicked your butt fair and square, KF.”

“I’ll kick _your_ butt fair and square,” Wally mutters. He doesn’t sound like he means it, but Dick brightens, a smirk stretching across his face.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, and the room freezes. Even Artemis looks up from her homework. Wally’s gone pale, Kaldur still looks exasperated, and M’gann and Conner both look interested. Dick makes sure to keep his gaze on Wally. “What? You backing out? I’ll even fight without my belt. Just plain old sparring. You and me.”

“No,” Wally says.”

“You said you were bored.”

 _“No,”_ Wally tells him, the word repeated more forcefully this time. “No way in hell. The last time I fought you, I landed flat on my ass.”

“Language,” a voice says, and Dick turns to see Superman stride into the room, Batman and Black Canary just a step behind him. They look—if Dick had to pick a word—amused. Despite his reprimand, Clark’s got a smile on his face, one reflected by Black Canary. Batman’s not smiling, but he doesn’t have his angry face on, so Dick thinks that’s as happy as he can probably get with the cowl covering his face.

Wally’s up and sprinting towards their mentors before Dick can even blink, talking a mile a minute. “What’re you guys doing here? Do we have a mission? Training? I thought that it was Batman who gave out missions, not Superman, so why’s he here? Not that we don’t want you here, Superman, but it’s just a surprise to see you—”

Dick hops out of his seat to elbow Wally, effectively cutting him off. Wally sends him a short glare, but Dick tilts his head towards the superheroes in front of them.

Superman’s outright grinning now, and Black Canary’s biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, and—dare he say it—that almost looks like a _smile_ on Batman’s face.

“We heard what you said,” Black Canary says, eyes alight with amusement as she glances between Dick and Wally. “About sparring.”

Wally groans, and Dick grins, hopping on his toes. “Does that mean what I think it means?” he asks.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Batman says, voice gruff but not unkind.

 _“What’s_ not a bad idea?” Artemis says, sounding wary as she, too, stands up.

“Sparring with Robin,” Batman clarifies, this time just slightly more annoyed. He pauses a moment, looking over all of them before he continues, “Robin has the potential means to take down each member of the League down, provided that he took them on separately. Do any of you?”

Wally grimaces. “Every time I spar with him, I end up on my butt. _Every. Time._ ”

“That’s when you figure out a way to take him down,” Black Canary reminds Wally. “That’s the point of training, isn’t it?”

“To get our asses kicked?” Artemis snorts.

“To better your chances against your opponent,” Superman corrected. “And eventually learn how to beat them.”

“He trains with you,” Conner says, and Dick whirls around to look at him, but his eyes are trained on Batman. There’s this intensity that Dick isn’t sure he understands. “Can he beat you?”

There’s silence, and even Dick’s frozen where he’s stood, mouth opening and closing as he looks between Conner and Batman. The rest of the team, too, has all but stopped, eyes on Batman as they wait for his answer. And some of them are even looking at _Dick_.

Batman doesn’t say anything for a long while, but when he does, it’s to Dick. “Can you?” he asks, and Dick’s face splits into another grin, because that’s—Bruce is _challenging_ him. No one other than Dick can hear it—well, maybe Clark since they’re best friends, or whatever Bruce likes to call it—but it’s definitely there.

And Dick? He snatches up the challenge immediately. “Heck yes! Prepare to get your ass kicked!”

Dick is going to lose. Horribly. And he knows it. Doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try his best.

Clark looks exasperated. “Seriously, Robin? Language.”

Dick sticks his tongue out and cackles.

Superman throws his hands up in the air and turns to Bruce. “Language?”

“He’s fourteen,” is Batman’s reply.

“I could tell A—”

“No!” both Dick and Batman say at the same time. Dick practically yells it, but Bruce is that carefully controlled growl of his. Clark just raises an eyebrow, but Dick just moves on. Better that way.

He turns to Bruce, bouncing on his heels. “The sparring ring?”

Batman grunts, and then he’s sweeping out of the common area, everyone’s eyes trailing after him.

Dick turns to Wally and says, face carefully neutral. “I just want you to know, if I don’t make it out of this alive, you’re not allowed to touch my comic books. Or my video games. Or anything else of mine.”

Wally blows out a big breath, eyes wide. “Dude!”

Dick cackles and then he’s making his way towards the sparring ring, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, slow pokes!”

* * *

At first, Dick doesn’t move. He stays where he is, crouched on the very edge of the ring, opposite of Batman. Batman’s still, too, and neither of them pay much attention to the eyes on them on the outside of the ring. They’re too busy looking over each other, sizing the other up before they attack.

Despite this being far from the first time Dick’s ever faced Bruce, a trill of excitement travels down his spine. He thinks that this might be the first time that Robin has ever sparred with Batman (the thing in the Watchtower doesn’t count. Bruce hadn’t been in control of himself, and in the end, he’d needed Conner’s help).

All too suddenly, Batman relaxes, and then he’s leaping forwards, reaching for his belt underneath the cape. Dick knows what’s coming, but he narrows his eyes just in case something unexpected happens— like that. He cartwheels out of the way as Bruce feints with a thrown batarang and sweeps a leg out to take out Dick’s legs. Dick cartwheels a few more times before he ducks and rolls forward, springing forward to grab Bruce’s hand and maybe pull off that new move he’s been working on, but Bruce doesn’t give him a chance. Bruce grabs the arm and twists—but Dick’s already breaking the hold.

They go on like that, Dick more on the defensive than the offensive because of the way he’d been trained. He brings out every bit of acrobatic skill he has and then some, but Bruce always seems to be one step ahead of him. Finally, after about another ten or fifteen minutes, until Bruce finally pins Dick to the ground, holding Dick’s arms behind his back in a way that prevents Dick from slipping his grip.

Neither of them are heaving for breath, but the fight had still been somewhat of a workout. It’d been hard to think more than two or three moves ahead while physically fighting, but Dick had done it up until now. And it had left a thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Good,” Bruce says in a rare show of compliment, and then he goes and ruins it with, “but not good enough.”

“Just you wait,” Dick huffs. “Give me, like, a year, and I’ll be kicking your ass all the way to the Watchtower.”

“Hnn.”

Dick rolls his eyes as Bruce lets him up. Expressive as that was, Dick thinks that maybe Bruce should consider not talking in Bat-speak when he’s around anybody other than Dick and Clark, so that they can understand him.

Dick dusts himself off as he stands up, and turns to face his teammates. Wally still looks pale, Artemis has her mouth hanging open, and Conner and M’gann are both openly staring. It’s only Kaldur that’s regarding him weirdly. He looks like Alfred does sometimes when Bruce and Dick spar at home—some weird mixture of pride and sadness.

Dinah’s smiling, though, as is Clark, so Dick grins brightly, ignores his teammates, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and asks, “Well? Who’s next?”


End file.
